It was of no concern to me
When you sang your song out in the ocean;
I heard it not; I never even saw you blow;
Safe in my cottage, my cocoon,
It was of no concern to me.
It should have been of no concern to you
When, in the summertime, I trespassed on the brink
Of your world.
My paddling feet and splashing hands,
A few yards from the shore, were never any threat to you,
A creature of the ocean deep.
My summer swimming should have been
Of no concern to you.
But now, what is of some concern to me
Is, that you and your companions
Should throw yourselves away upon this beach.
This is no graveyard where, by tradition,
Whales would come to die.
For what purpose was this suicide?
What did it prove?
And why here should it ever be
Of any more concern to me?
Back then this was of much concern to most of us
And we tried hard to launch you back to sea
At high tide, to refloat you,
To save you from yourselves
But, in the main we failed,
For to the main you would not be returned
And so we had to watch you slowly die;
That was of increased concern to me
It is now of more concern to me
That you, intelligent sea mammals,
Should exchange the freedom of the ocean
For this straightjacket of a beach.
Has my world unawares created new conditions
In yours that you could no more tolerate
So, when our raucous noise was aired beneath the sea,
It drove you mad so that you sought the silence of the sands
Where, high and dry, the sound no longer blasted on your senses?
If so, that must have been of great concern to you.
I know now that I do not know the answer,
But I know that I cannot any longer say:
Of your song, no longer heard out in the ocean,
Of your blown spouting, that I shall never, ever see,
Of all those stranded whales, that are lying on our beaches;
That none of this is of concern to me.
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Author Notes
The earliest poems in this collection involved only the sea and the land and the continual dispute between the two. Gradually, like God moving on the face of the waters, animal life appeared in the poems and eventually mankind became involved as well. Immediately the animals felt his incursion on the scene as recounted in the legend of the selkie. Here however, matters are getting serious. This is no longer the realm of myth and legend. This is the real and sometimes brutal truth.
It seems that stranded whales are becoming more commonplace on our beaches and no one seems to know the reason why. Not only is the occasional mammal found in this distressing condition, but whole pods appear to be committing mass suicide. One theory is that the whales' extremely sensitive 'hearing' is being overloaded with the sounds of humankind to the extent that the animals become totally confused and bewildered.
The poem is in free verse; I couldn't have these remarkable creatures imprisoned in a form of poetry devised by mankind.
The artwork is entitled "Whale Song" - appropriate I thought.
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